Boost by Vi Summers

 

Chapter 37

-Greer-

 

 

“Jesus fuck,” Tian muttered, as his eyes skimmed the page. “No wonder he changed his name.”

An ominous feeling washed over me, and I took another sip of liquor before asking for details.

While his expression remained carefully neutral, Christian’s eyes held distaste when they lifted to meet mine.

“The kid endured seven years of mental and physical abuse between the ages of seven and fourteen, as did his sister and his mother during the same period.”

My brow crinkled. “If the guy was his biological father, why did it start at seven?”

Tian’s eyes skimmed as he lifted the scotch to his lips again. While waiting for an answer, I grabbed my laptop from my desk and looked up Juvenile Detention records, hoping to strike it lucky.

“Says here that after the girl was born, the father disappeared, leaving his wife and kids without warning. Then, returned three years later—that’s when the abuse started.” Tian shook his head and clicked his tongue, reading on.

“The asshole repetitively raped and beat his wife, Vega Delgado, sometimes into unconsciousness. Sometimes in front of the kids. Bastard,” he spat, and reached for more scotch.

“The day of the incident, Rafferty came home to find his father beating the shit out of his mother despite her already being unconscious. This is purely speculation now, but it says here that he found his father’s loaded weapon and shot him at point blank, multiple times in in the back. Neighbors called 911 after hearing a series of gunshots, then police found Rafferty cowering on the backseat of the family car, still clutching the handgun.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered. I was in utter shock. An overwhelming need to cry gathered at the back of my throat, but the heartbroken tears refused to shed. “What about the sister? Didn’t she go missing?”

Tian paused. “Says she was missing for the afternoon, but turned up that night at their grandparents’ house across the suburb. The same grandparents took both kids in and raised them.”

“Wait, so the mother died from her injuries?” When Raf had spoken briefly about his mom, it was present tense, not past.

“I dunno. All it says is that she wasn’t expected to live. Domestic incidents like this don’t tend to stay in the news for long, and it seems that this was a hot topic one day, then yesterday’s news the next. The next dated article is when Rafferty was sentenced, months later.”

Hissing down a sip of liquor, I glanced at Tian’s screen. “That’s the article I skimmed, though I can’t remember what it said, to be honest.”

“He was charged under self-defense, but instead of getting a permanent conviction, he did a year-long First Offender Program. Thus, he doesn’t have a criminal record.”

I snorted despite myself as I scrolled through what I found on the public database. “Well, no permanent record for that incident, but there is a short list of misdemeanor charges for shoplifting and destruction of property. Nothing from after the shooting,” I added. “When did the name change take place?”

“It doesn’t say outright, but it appears somewhere around age sixteen, perhaps shortly after his F.O. program concluded.”

My mind skipped back over my initial interview with Rafael. Tian’s assumptions of the series of events coincided with what Raf had told me—that he started living with his grandparents at the age of fifteen.

“I’m conflicted about this.”

Tian’s hazel eyes lifted again. “About?”

After tossing back the small remaining amount of scotch in my glass, I confessed, “I’m pissed that I found out the way I did.”

“No one likes being blindsided during a press release. It’s a bad look.”

“No shit,” I snapped. “On the other hand, I feel so bad for what he went through as a kid. It’s a wonder he made it through at all.”

A snort came from Tian’s nose. “He’s no fucking Saint, Gree.”

“I know,” I bit back. “But neither are you, and neither am I. It’s just that-” I cut off with a heavy sigh, wanting to save the effort it was going to take to explain myself in a way that wouldn’t make me feel foolish.

“You blurred the lines between business and pleasure,” he finished for me, in a surprisingly soft tone.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Yeah, I did.”

It sounded as bad as it felt.

With my heart barely able to function, I picked up my phone, held my breath, and dialed our legal department.

“Julius, we have a problem.”